


Pas de Deux

by Daegaer



Series: For Art's Sake [20]
Category: Weiß Kreuz
Genre: 1920s, Artists, Dancers, Dancing, London, M/M, Pranks and Practical Jokes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-13
Updated: 2014-07-13
Packaged: 2018-02-08 20:01:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1954383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daegaer/pseuds/Daegaer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In 1920s London, Crawford reluctantly goes dancing with his artist friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pas de Deux

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Wedding scenario in the Oh No U Didn't Challenge in the Summer 2014 Weiss vs Saiyuki battle.

Much against my inclinations, I find I am caught up with other members of the Rosenkreuz group when a general call to go dancing goes up. My protests are ignored – overridden, I should say.

"I'd really rather not, I have two left feet," I try in vain.

"Don't be such a wet fucking blanket," Schuldig says.

"It's not as if any of us are good dancers," Plekhanov adds, a blatant lie, given that he has his two ballerina friends on either arm.

"I don't feel I can possibly dance with either of them," I mutter, as I am pulled along in the general exodus.

"Then you shall have to dance with me," Miss Lin laughs, and slips her arm though mine. "Didn't you dance at all, back in America?"

"Not if I could avoid it," I say.

"You can't avoid it tonight," she says, and squeezes my elbow.

The club we pick isn't very large, nor is it well-known – we are none of us dressed for a night on the town. I wonder if the ladies would have preferred somewhere else, then think that I have no idea how much dancers earn. Perhaps the Russian sisters could not afford the sorts of gowns that would be _de rigeur_ in fashionable clubs, and Miss Lin – I haven't thought of it before, but would such places allow her through the front door? Surely they would, as long as she were accompanied by a man such as Plekhanov or myself, I think. Perhaps this club is better, though, for all of us.

We deposit our coats and hats in the cloak room, and pick a table. I am ready to sit there for the entire night, but the band is lively and Miss Lin seizes my hand and pulls me up again. I'm sure she regrets it quickly enough – I was not lying about my lack of skill – but she manages to appear to enjoy herself. Plekhanov is a more graceful dancer than I would have expected, with one of his friends, while Schuldig is partnering the other, with perhaps more enthusiasm than expertise.

"Can _you_ tell them apart?" I murmur, nodding over at our friends.

"Not always," Miss Lin admits with a laugh. "Tonight I think it's Masha who's in the red and Tanya in the blue – they share their outfits, of course, which makes it harder." Her smile is very mischievous as she adds, "Don't you wonder if Sergei ever mixes them up at embarrassing moments?"

I have wondered precisely that almost every time I see the three of them together, but I still blush. "I suppose he must invite them over on different days," I say, trying to sound quite casual.

"Why, Mr Crawford, didn't you know? They live together. I've seen their room, there's only one bed." She giggles at my shocked expression.

"He can't possibly – not at the same time –" I splutter, and realize I sound like everything I have tried to leave behind. "Well," I say, "how very revolutionary."

After that I feel the need for a rest, and relinquish Miss Lin to other partners while I sit and sip a whisky and soda. Some minutes later Schuldig drops into the seat beside me.

"Are you sulking by yourself?"

"I am smoking and having a drink. Perhaps you'd like to join me?" I beckon over a waitress and order another whiskey.

"You should get up and find another girl to dance with," Schuldig says. "I'm going to, in a minute."

"And embarrass myself with a stranger? At least Miss Lin was kind enough not to mock me. All those dance classes, for nothing!"

"You had dance classes?" Schuldig says, "Really?"

I sigh. "As a child. The teacher always made me take my spectacles off – she believed that children with poor sight were simply seeking attention and needed to be discouraged from such silliness. I trod on a _lot_ of little girls' toes."

"That's not very nice," he says, and laughs helplessly. "It's funny, though."

I laugh too, it _is_ funny, as an adult, though I remember the child's panic of not being able to see and the feeling of being off-balance. I am not a child now, thank God. My ruminations are interrupted by the appearance of the Russian sisters, flushed and smiling, who cheerfully say something to both Schuldig and me.

"Do you speak Russian?" I say.

"Apart from 'vodka'? No. Hello, Masha Andreyevna, Tanya Andreyevna!"

Each of us is seized by the hand by one of the girls and pulled up. They are, I find, surprisingly strong for their slender frames. Ballet must be more strenuous than I gave it credit. No common language is needed as we are pulled back to the dance floor, where, I am glad to say, my partner's skill more than makes up for my lack of it. The girls catch each other's eye, grinning, and then Masha – at least if Miss Lin is right, my partner is Masha – slips from my arms to stand behind me, her hands clasped about my wrists, just as Tanya – if it is Tanya – does the same with Schuldig.

"Er, Masha?" I say.

"Da," she replies, cheerfully, and moves me with her as if I am a giant, ungainly puppet.

It would be very ungentlemanly to rip myself from a lady's hands, so I let her move me, just as Schuldig seems to be doing – he looks as confused as I, but is laughing. We are led through some odd, stylized paces – a dance, I belatedly realize, then suddenly,

"Do you speak French?" Masha says, in French.

I'm so surprised at understanding her that it takes a moment before I can stammer, "A little," in the same language.

"Jump, Bradley," she says, giggling.

I jump, and manage not to twist my ankle because she steadies me as I land. Tanya is making Schuldig spin; when he stops, looking dizzy, she makes him spin again. It's very odd – I look over to see Miss Lin whispering to Plekhanov, and suddenly clap a hand in front of her mouth. She is almost crying with laughter, which gives me a good idea of how this must look to others. I see no more, as it seems to be my turn to be moved about again.

"Is this ballet?" I ask in French.

"Yes, it's ballet," comes the beatific reply.

Finally Schuldig is sent spinning right at me and my arms are released. I catch him, fearing he will fall for he looks very dizzy. The sisters applaud us, and kiss our cheeks.

"Bravo, bravo," they say, and help us, staggering more than a little, back to our seats.

"What was that about?" Schuldig gasps. "I need a drink. Uhhh, the room's still spinning! That was fun – we should do that again."

"I'm not sure I have the energy," I say, and watch the sisters giggling with Plekhanov. "Miss Lin, did we look as foolish as I think we did?"

"It looked - _avante garde_ ," she says, and then puts a hand on mine, "Mr Crawford, don't be annoyed with them, they were just joking with you and Schuldig, they weren't trying to be rude."

"What do you mean?" I ask, draining my glass.

"You must not follow ballet – they made you dance the wedding from _Sleeping Beauty_. Prince Désiré and Princess Aurora dance a pas de deux – you had the prince's part, if you want to know."

"What makes me a princess?" Schuldig says.

"You're slighter – easier to do some form of pirouette with, I'd suppose," she says.

I am afraid to look at him. What awful thing will he say next?

"It's everything I could have wanted from a wedding," Schuldig says. "I have friends here, there aren't any stuffy speeches, and of course the best thing is, now that we're married –" He puts a hand on my arm.

I wince inside. Here it comes.

" – we can't testify against each other in court."

Everyone laughs. I look at him in some relief and find him looking back slyly, as if he knows exactly what I feared he might say. He raises his glass to me and sips, still keeping his eyes on mine. His hand is still on my arm; I suppose he'll move it when he wants to. I find that is fine with me. I sit back and laugh along with the others. We really should go dancing more often.


End file.
